Beyond Poetry
by Mimi Bella
Summary: Concerns characters from the film...just what was going on backstage...
1. One

1 Beyond Poetry  
  
*No characters, except Olivia and her mother, are mine and should not be construed as such. Please R/R*  
  
  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Olivia stared at the pile of costumes Henslowe had given her to mend. They were to be for Master Shakespeare's newest play, "Romeo and Ethel". Or was it "Romeo and Juliet"? He couldn't seem to decide. No matter, she knew what her orders were: remove the gold cords from the blue doublets and sew them on the red ones. Tedious work, yes, but it was better than living on the street, or worse yet, being a whore like her mother.  
  
Olivia had come to work for the Rose Theatre not long after her sixteenth birthday. It wasn't worth much, but someone had to pay the rent, and her mother drank most of her earnings away. Besides, Olivia's job as a laundress wasn't enough to feed them as well. She and her mother occupied a two-room garret above a young writer's flat. Little did she know at the time, he was young William Shakespeare, playwright and actor. But Olivia cared little for that. She couldn't even read, and hardly ever had the spare money to see a play.  
  
"What's that we have here?" Will stopped her one day as she hurried along with her basket of dirty clothes.  
  
"It's the washing," she replied quickly, her head down. She tried to sidestep around him, but he put his arm out to stop her.  
  
"Don't you know me? I believe we are neighbors!" Will exclaimed. Olivia looked up into his intense brown eyes and dark, curling hair. "I'm Will, by the way."  
  
"Olivia," she said softly.  
  
"Olivia, a lovely name. I shall have to put it in one of my plays someday."  
  
"Plays?" she said incredulously. "You're a writer, then?"  
  
"Will Shakespeare, at your service," he gave an elaborate bow to her. Olivia looked around, color rising to her face.  
  
"Stop it, stand up!" she said. "People are staring."  
  
"And that they should, for how often do people in this city encounter beauty as splendid as yours?"  
  
"Is this how you get all the girls to fall at your feet?" she asked dismissively.  
  
"Well, not exactly at my feet," he muttered. She started off. "But I see my reputation precedes me!" he exclaimed, trying to prevent her from getting away. Olivia stopped in her tracks and shook her head in mock exasperation. "I can see you are not so easily impressed," he said.  
  
"Should I be?" she asked, turning to face him.  
  
"Perhaps you will be, when I write a sonnet just for you to read," he said.  
  
Olivia shrugged and again started on her way.  
  
"Well, you'll just have to recite it for me. I can't read," she told him plainly.  
  
Will turned his head to one side and looked at Olivia, slightly surprised.  
  
"They don't exactly have schools for people like me," she muttered, walking past him. Will started off behind her.  
  
"Then I will teach you!" he proposed.  
  
"Will you, then," Olivia said incredulously.  
  
"Yes! I shall. No one should be deprived of the ability to read and enjoy—" he began.  
  
"Your poetry?" Olivia asked.  
  
"Yes, well, mine and others'," he continued confidently. "But you'll let me teach you, won't you?"  
  
"Very well. I shall come by your flat after I finish with work this evening," she told him.  
  
Later that evening, Olivia arrived at Will Shakespeare's one room garret for her lesson. She sat at his desk as he introduced her to the alphabet and began to show her how to write. He placed his hands on her shoulders in a brotherly sort of way, and Olivia knew he thought more of her than of the legions of other girls he brought to his room for slightly more carnal purposes.  
  
Weeks passed, and Olivia progressed quickly in her studies. She devoured Will's plays and poetry, keeping a folio or two hidden beneath the laundry she took out to wash. When no one was looking, she would steal a few minutes and read, savoring his words. Meanwhile, she would watch from her bedroom window as Master Shakespeare dallied in the courtyard with the idiot costume girl from the Curtain Theatre, Rosaline. Olivia just sighed and rolled her eyes, knowing that this girl would be no different from the rest, just a phase that Will would eventually pass through.  
  
She sat up late one night, staring out her window at the bleak dirt streets below, trying to ignore the sounds of crying babies in the next building. Soon, Will, obviously drunk, came stumbling down the street, clinging to building walls to maintain his balance. He noticed the candle burning in Olivia's window and began calling her name."  
  
"O-LIIIIIIIV-ia!!!" he yelled. "I know you're awake up there! OLIVIA!!! Come down here!"  
  
Various inhabitants, awakened from their somewhat peaceful slumber, began yelling expletives at the noisy young drunk in the street.  
  
"SHHHH!!" Olivia said, exasperated, but she couldn't help but smile down from her window at Will's arms outstretched in drunken entreaty. She bounded down the stairs to find Will slumped on the ground. She shook his head, and then attempted to stand him up.  
  
"I've done it this time, Livvy," he said.  
  
"Done what?" she asked, as she placed his limp arm around her shoulder, but he didn't budge.  
  
"Well, you see, it's quite a dilemma. I told Burbage, you know, pompous ass from the Curtain, that I had this play for him, 'Romeo and Ethel, the Pirate's Daughter' or some rubbish like that," Will began, his words slurring together. "Only problem is, I promised Henslowe the same play, and they've already held auditions. But I haven't gotten a thing written, save for a few scenes!"  
  
"Seems like you've got some explaining to do to both of them," Olivia said.  
  
"Oh, but that's not all. You see, I've promised plays to these two men, but the thing is, I haven't written either of them," he continued.  
  
"And you're telling this to me because…?" Olivia trailed off.  
  
"I need someone to be my muse!" he exclaimed grandly.  
  
Olivia heard her mother stirring in her bed. She had come home from work, drunk as usual, but Olivia knew it was better not to cross her in this condition. She had received enough bruises in her childhood to learn this.  
  
Olivia sighed loudly.  
  
"What about that baggage Rosaline you were so keen on just yesterday?" she asked bitterly.  
  
Will's face suddenly became pensive.  
  
"Forget about her!" he called. "Please, come down here!"  
  
Olivia pondered what it might mean to be Will Shakespeare's muse. Would he put her into his play then? She thought it was time for a good character named Olivia! And so, she relented and descended the stairs to the courtyard, where the drunken writer had nearly collapsed. She helped him to his garret.  
  
"Must write another scene tonight, rehearsals are tomorrow," he said, sounding exhausted. He attempted to take a seat at his desk and pull out a pot of ink and stack of paper to begin his work. But no sooner had he done that, his head suddenly slammed down on the desk, asleep.  
  
Olivia rolled her eyes, and gently lifted his head from the desk.  
  
"All right, Master Shakespeare, it looks as though there isn't going to be any writing getting done tonight. Let's get you off to bed," she said authoritatively, helping him toward his bed.  
  
"Oh, will you be joining me?" he asked in a ridiculous voice.  
  
"Certainly not."  
  
"But I've a play to write! Rehearsals begin tomorrow, and I've told Henslowe—" Will began, growing frantic.  
  
"I'm sure Henslowe and the actors will be satisfied with the one or two scenes you've already completed. You can write the rest tomorrow or the day after. Now go to sleep," Olivia told him in an almost maternal tone. "Good night, Will."  
  
"Good night, Olivia," he responded. "You'll still be my muse, won't you?"  
  
"For now, I will. Good night," she smiled and shut the door to his flat.  
  
She paused for a moment and leaned against the door frame, realizing what had just happened and what she was feeling. It was not just sisterly amusement; indeed, it was something much deeper than that.  
  
"I think I'm falling in love," she thought. 


	2. Two

1 Beyond Poetry  
  
Chapter Two  
  
  
  
"Romeo and Ethel" began rehearsals the next day. Olivia reported to work at the Rose, and assisted the property master with dusting off the old swords and costumes to see what they could use for the production.  
  
"So do you know what it's about, Miss Olivia?" the property master asked her as they lifted a box of blue velvet doublets.  
  
"I believe it's a comedy of some sort, confusion of identities and the like," she said.  
  
"Oh well, so long as there's a bit with a dog, I won't mind. I do like comedies with dogs!" he laughed. Olivia smiled half-heartedly.  
  
Henslowe suddenly burst into the room.  
  
"Olivia!" he exclaimed. "Your assistance is required. Some of the actors tell me they have not been measured for their costumes. Now we have very little time before we must perform, so I trust you will take care of this immediately!"  
  
"I'll be right there, Mr. Henslowe," she said, putting down the props she was dusting off. The property master winked at her as she followed Henslowe out into the house of the Rose. Members of the Company were onstage, running through their lines. Olivia began drawing the actors aside to take their measurements for costumes, which really weren't measurements at all; Olivia just sized up each actor to see if they had costumes to accommodate them.  
  
She was in the middle of this when the main doors to the Rose burst open, and six men came loudly into the house. It was Ned Alleyn and the Admiral's Men, returned to the Rose after a tour in the country. Olivia rolled her eyes heavenward. She was not taken in by Ned's bombastic personality, in spite of his talent.  
  
The actors exchanged greetings until Ned silenced them all with his announcement:  
  
"What is the play and what is my part?"  
  
Will anxiously came to his side, saying, "We are desperately in need of a Mercutio, Ned."  
  
"Yes, and what is the name of this piece?" Ned asked grandly.  
  
"Mercutio," Will said quickly. Confused glances were exchanged among the actors.  
  
A complacent smile crept to Ned's lips.  
  
"I will play him," he said, satisfied with himself.  
  
Will began shaking the Admiral's Mens' hands as Henslowe again approached Olivia.  
  
"I do not believe young Master Kent there has been measured for a costume," he told her. Olivia was not familiar with this Kent. Indeed, she had never seen him before.  
  
"Very well," she said, approaching the boy. "Master Kent!" she called.  
  
He did not respond.  
  
"Master Kent!" she said again, this time touching the young man's arm. He jumped, startled.  
  
"Oh! Um, yes, I am Thomas Kent," he said nervously, his voice suddenly deepening.  
  
"Need your measurements, sir," Olivia said, glancing at his face.  
  
There was something odd about this Thomas Kent. His skin was much too soft and there was no hair on his face. His features were far too fine to be that of a man, Olivia thought. And he refused to make eye contact with her, as if he had something to hide. Olivia looked at him warily. Even Sam Gosse, the actor who had always played female roles, looked more masculine than this Thomas Kent. Certainly, this must be the one playing Ethel  
  
"What role is it that you'll be playing?" Olivia asked.  
  
"Romeo," Kent replied.  
  
Romeo. The hero. Olivia nodded at him.  
  
"Thank you very much, Mr. Kent," she said. Kent nodded apprehensively, as though some secret had been revealed. No, things were certainly not as they seemed, thought Olivia.  
  
Later that evening, when Olivia had finished her work at the Rose, she made her way home in the darkness. She didn't like to be around when her mother arrived home, usually drunk after a night servicing the men of London, so she often found work to do at the theatre to keep her there as late as possible.  
  
The streets were growing quiet as Olivia approached her flat. In the distance, she saw a young man walking toward her at a jaunty pace. She didn't take any notice of him.  
  
"Olivia!" he called. "What in God's name are you doing out so late?"  
  
It was Master Shakespeare. Olivia smiled.  
  
"Good evening, Will. And where have you been?"  
  
"Getting inspired!" he replied emphatically.  
  
"Well, that's a good thing, as you haven't even completed Act One."  
  
Will laughed in response. He put his arm around Olivia's shoulders in a brotherly manner.  
  
"Yes, indeed, I will complete it tonight."  
  
"What's gotten you so inspired?" she asked.  
  
Will smiled broadly.  
  
"I…am in love!" he exclaimed.  
  
"Really? And who is the lucky girl?" Olivia asked. She was more than half hoping he would say, "You!"  
  
But he didn't.  
  
"Lady Viola de Lesseps!" he replied. "Her nurse is the aunt of our own Master Thomas Kent."  
  
"Is that so? And how did you meet this angel?" Olivia asked, almost sarcastically.  
  
"Why, at her home. There was a dance there tonight."  
  
"Were you invited?" Olivia imagined Master Shakespeare would not typically mingle with lords and ladies at their homes.  
  
"Sadly, no. But I saw her, up on her balcony, and…oh, Olivia, I have never seen such beauty!" he enthused. Olivia tried to smile. "Lord Wessex's guards ended up chasing me away, but not before I could speak with her!" Will proceeded to describe this exquisite beauty with a string of metaphors that would make anyone blush. "I saw her across the room, and then she saw me, and I joined the dance so that I could be near her. We spoke, and then Wessex's guards tore me from her and threw me out. Oh, but Olivia, I must see her!"  
  
"What are you going to do?" Olivia asked, the annoyance more than apparent in her voice.  
  
"I'm going to write!" he said grandly as he stared off toward his garret. "I'll see you tomorrow, Olivia. Good night!" Will wandered off in a still-euphoric state as Olivia found her way up the stairs to her own straw bed. Hot tears sprang onto the pillow as she imagined how she would never catch Master Shakespeare's attention now. 


	3. Three

Beyond Poetry  
  
Chapter Three  
  
The following morning, Olivia arrived to find the theatre already full, and the actors hard at work. Henslowe found her immediately and singled her out for some work. "Olivia, I trust those doublets will be finished today? The actors need to begin rehearsing in them as soon as possible, you know. And Sam's dress still isn't finished," he snapped at her. "Yes, yes, I know," Olivia returned with more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "They'll all be done in time, Mr. Henslowe." Henslowe's face immediately turned red, as if some secret had been divulged. He took Olivia firmly by the arm and led her out of sight-and earshot-of anyone else. "I'll ask you not to use that tone of voice with me," he scolded. "And why not? Are you my mother?" Olivia shot back, and added. "Now, please excuse me, I have work to do, as you so aptly noted earlier." With that, Olivia turned on her heel and headed off toward the prop room backstage, nearly bowling over Ned Alleyn, who gave her a confused look.  
  
Fighting back tears of heartbreak and frustration, Olivia immersed herself in her work. She thought that if she could keep herself from thinking of Will with anyone else, she just might be able to overcome her feelings for him. She continued through the day, working in silence, as the actors recited Shakespeare's brilliant words on the other side of the wall where she sat. For three days, she worked like this, rarely leaving the room except to catch a breath of fresh air or a glass of water. One day, she encountered Will backstage as she carried some props to the actors. "Olivia!" he exclaimed. "I've scarcely seen you around here lately. Is everything all right?" "Yes, Master Shakespeare, just busy with my work, you see," she said briskly, walking past him. "Ah yes, as am I. Having a bit of trouble finishing the death scene," Will said, not picking up on the apparent annoyance and despair in her voice. "Death scene? Well, what about your muse, this Lady Viola? I thought she cured you of any.obstacles you might encounter in your writing. Or haven't you seen her recently?" Olivia asked. Will turned color. Coughing, he replied, "Ah, yes, I saw her.just last night, in fact." Olivia's brows furrowed. "Last night? But you were here last night. Rehearsing, with everyone else," she said. "Oh! Yes, that's right," Will stammered. "Must have been another night then." Olivia looked at him strangely. It seemed as though he was hiding something. "Uh, well, back to work, then!" Will, in an almost panicked mood, quickly hurried away. Olivia raised her eyebrows and shook her head. "Writers," she said, attempting to busy herself with her work. A few moments later, a familiar voice rang out and Olivia rolled her eyes. "Olivia!" the man's voice called bombastically, ostentation oozing from every syllable. "Where is that accursed costume girl?" Olivia went silent. She hoped her would just go away. But he didn't. Within moments, Ned Alleyn was standing in the doorway, his head cocked, eyebrow raised. "Olivia," he said succinctly, enunciating each syllable. "Henslowe told me I could find you here. Are the Montague doublets finished yet? We are all waiting."  
  
"Yes, nearly," she said tersely, without any inflection in her voice. She stood up to place something on the shelf behind her. Suddenly, she felt Ned approaching her. His hands fell upon her shoulders. "You know, Olivia, you never answered my question, did you?" he said, his voice deepening. Olivia could feel her face redden. She shrugged his hands away. "Your question?" she snapped. She pretended not to know what he was talking about, but she could hardly forget him, suggesting the previous day that they should become lovers, even though he sensed her affections were fixed to someone else. Ned was perceptive, despite his ego. "I'm not one of your little strumpet fans. And I'm not my mother," she said bitterly. Ned looked exasperated. "Surely, you must know that my intentions are much more honorable than that," he said seriously. "And what indication have you given me that they are?" Olivia retorted angrily, trying to make him leave. "Do you really think me so far below you that your mere notice of me is enough to make me fall at your feet?" Ned was silent for a moment as he pondered his response. Finally, he said softly, "Olivia, you are the daughter of a whore." Olivia felt the blood rise to her face as she laced into him with her fists. "Get out!" she screamed, tears running down her face. Ned backed away from her, astonished. "How dare you! Get away from me. Don't ever speak to me again!" she yelled and began to run. She didn't care where, as long as she got away from Ned. Her head down, she barreled toward the back door of the theatre. Suddenly, she collided with another solid body. Which happened to belong to Master Shakespeare, who was perusing his latest writing. Noticing Olivia's obvious distress, he took her by the shoulders. "Olivia! Good God, what's wrong?" he asked in genuine concern. Olivia looked away, fuming as tears streamed down her cheeks. She wiped them away angrily. "It's nothing," she sniffed. "Actors," she added, with more than a hint of disdain in her voice.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
There was a knock on the door of the small prop room Olivia had commandeered to finish her sewing. "Come in," she said flatly. The door opened and Ned poked his head in the room. Olivia looked up. "I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again." Ned entered the room and shut the door behind him. "Be that as it may," he began diplomatically, "I won't be defeated so easily." "Do you have any real reason to be here?" Olivia asked impatiently. "I've come to tell you that rehearsal is over for the evening, and the Admiral's Men and I are heading down to the Boar's Head. Would you care to join us?" he asked. Olivia gestured toward the mound of costumes she had yet to finish sewing. "Even if I didn't have this pile of work to complete, I don't think there is enough beer in that tavern to make one evening with you bearable," she snapped. Ned closed his eyes and grimaced. "Very well. I see. Have a good evening, Olivia," he bid her farewell and left the room. "Good evening, Ned," she called after him, no sign of affection or concern in her voice.  
  
Ned had only been gone for a few moments when Henslowe stuck his head through the door. "We're all leaving for the evening, Olivia. Will you be joining us?" he asked. Olivia held up the costume she was working on. "Not if I want to finish these." "Oh. Well, if you finish, you know where we are. Oh, and Olivia, you'll be alone here tonight, so be careful," Henslowe said. "All right, thank you," she replied, more than a hint of annoyance in her voice, but secretly, she appreciated the concern.  
  
It was nearly midnight before Olivia finished sewing the correct cords on the right doublets. Her fingers full of pinpricks, she folded and set them in the prop room, and then gathered her things together to go home, preparing for a long night's sleep. She was about to slip out the back door when she heard a loud noise backstage. Thinking it was that brat John Webster trying to spend the night in the theatre again, she quickly lit a lantern and walked back inside. "I thought we told you to stay out of here," she called menacingly into the darkness, hoping that the morbid little child would show himself. She thought she saw a light on the stage area and made her way toward it. Sure enough, behind the set that was functioning as the Capulet's house, a lone candle stood burning. Beside the candle she saw two forms in the shadows. She silently crept toward them as they came into view. Before her she saw Will.locked in a passionate kiss.with Thomas Kent. Olivia gasped and almost cried out, but then she saw Will gingerly remove Thomas Kent's hat. Waves of blonde hair cascaded down over Kent's shoulders, although Olivia was beginning to suspect that that wasn't his name. Shaking, Olivia backed away and quickly broke into a run as she rushed out of the theatre. 


End file.
